


this love of ours

by aarysalice, laughtales



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, FE3H AU Big Bang, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, these idiots love each other but they both need so much therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:53:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28847850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aarysalice/pseuds/aarysalice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughtales/pseuds/laughtales
Summary: What a curious thing love is. Even when it's there, it might not always be felt.Sometimes,lovingisn't enough. There's more to it than that.Felix learns this the hard way when he finds Sylvain wreathed in a bed of bloody flowers..Or, the one where Felix and Sylvain are dating but Sylvain catches Hanahaki anyway.Written for the FE3H AU Big Bang in collaboration withaarysalice
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 84
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	this love of ours

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea in my head for the better part of half a year now and it's finally out in the world. I've always wanted to explore the more psychological side of Hanahaki so this is that. 
> 
> A huge thank you to aarys for being so sweet and patient with me this entire time. It's been a pleasure to work on this project with you! <3 Please check out her [ beautiful art](https://twitter.com/aarysalice/status/1351437698829959169?s=20) for this fic! 
> 
> On that note, hope you enjoy the fic <3

Felix wakes to fingers carding softly through his hair. The clock on the nightstand tells him it’s almost eight in the morning.

Felix frowns.

It’s too early _and_ too late all at once. Felix tends to be up right when the sun rises, slipping himself carefully out of Sylvain’s arms to go for his morning run before the streets start filling with people. Typically, he’s got time to shower and make coffee and check his work emails before Sylvain is even rolling out of bed and tumbling into the bathroom for his ridiculously complicated morning routine.

Sylvain hasn’t noticed he’s awake yet, his eyes are focused on the book he’s reading while his other arm goes numb underneath Felix’s weight.

“You’re up early,” Felix says, yawning out the last vestiges of sleep. With a stretch, he rolls into Sylvain’s side and lets his head fall onto his shoulder. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Morning sweetheart,” Sylvain says, putting his book down on the nightstand. “Special day.” Sylvain smiles by way of explaining. “It’s not everyday I get to wake up with you in my arms.”

Felix makes a face. It’s too early for pet names and he is not awake enough to fend off the blush that rises to his cheeks. He buries his face further into Sylvain, pinching his side when he has the audacity to laugh.

“Special day?” Felix repeats, catching up to the not-embarrassing part of Sylvain’s reply as he rolls reluctantly away from bed and stretches out the kinks in his back.

Sylvain sits up and pouts at him. “We’re going on a date today aren’t we?”

“Oh. Right.” He hadn’t forgotten, Sylvain’s been happy all week leading up to this. It just didn’t seem that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. They live together for the most part. Sylvain stays over at Felix’s more often than not, to the point where Felix has handed him his spare already so he might as well move in, and they spend a lot of time together already when they’re not at work or preoccupied with other things. It’s hard not to when you live under the same roof and have a boyfriend as doting and affection as Sylvain. They try to have dinner together when they can, and they’re always pressed into each other’s space when they lounge around. They see each other all the time. He doesn’t share Sylvain’s excitement in taking it outside every once in a while. “What are we doing again?”

Sylvain’s smile wilts a little. “That exhibit Bernie’s been working on is open so I thought we could go check it out. We can do something else though if you want.”

Felix shakes his head. “We can go to the exhibit. You’ve been wanting to see it since it started right? Let’s go.”

Sylvain perks up so fast and animatedly, Felix can’t help but scoff fondly. He jumps out of bed and hops over to him, planting a kiss on his cheek before dragging them both to the bathroom where they run into the problem of who showers first. (Together is decidedly not on the table today.)

In the end, it saves them time for Sylvain to shower first – Felix is a shower hog and Sylvain has a ten-step skin and hair routine. The smell of coffee and breakfast greet him as he steps out of the bathroom, sitting down across from Sylvain and listening to him talk excitedly about the exhibit. Felix’s never even heard of a flower exhibit before but he does his best to nod and grunt every now and then between mouthfuls of eggs and sausage.

After breakfast, Felix throws on the first thing he sees while Sylvain tries on three different outfits.

“Can’t you just pick something?” Felix taps his foot on the ground, watching Sylvain pull another shirt over his head. “It’s just a walk in the park.”

Sylvain looks at him, exasperated, and tries on another one, looking in the mirror before showing it to Felix. “What do you think?”

Felix looks it over. It looks good. But it also doesn’t look all that different from all the other things Sylvain tried on.

“It’s fine.” Sylvain hovers likes he’s waiting for more. Felix isn’t sure what else he wants. “It looks good,” he says again.

It’s good enough for Sylvain. He smiles and checks it again in the mirror before grabbing his things and following Felix out the door.

The park where the exhibit is being held is a short drive and decent walk away. The weather is nice, and Felix missed out on his morning run today so he’s gratefully for the fresh air and exercise.

The park isn’t packed, but there are more people than Felix expected to see, and straight up _more to see_ than Felix anticipated. Granted he’s not a flower specialist of any sort. In fact, his knowledge of flowers is probably sub-par at best. He can count on one hand how many different flowers he accurately match up name to plant.

Felix expected to see fields of flowers planted to make a picture – there is some of that of course-, and some plants he’s never seen or heard of – there’s lots of that. Lots and lots of that. But most surprisingly are the great towering arrangements. Different plants coming together in unexpected combinations to create _art_.

This is an art exhibit, Felix realizes. He is more out of his depth than he thought.

Sylvain slips his hand into Felix’s and leads them around, marveling at the installations and stopping to smell some too. He even points to some and names them off for Felix – daisies for innocence, hydrangeas for gratitude, dahlias for beauty. Felix favourite of the lot, if he absolutely had to pick one, were the various cacti and succulents. He didn’t know they flowered. _Endurance_ , Sylvain says. Yeah, that sounds right.

They walk around a little more when Sylvain suddenly perks up. “Bernie!” he calls over an arrangement. Felix looks in the general direction, craning his head over the blossoms. He doesn’t see Bernadetta but the shrill squeak he hears is proof enough that she’s over on the other side.

Felix shakes his hand out of Sylvain’s and motions with a slight tilt of his head for Sylvain to go say hello and chat. Sylvain looks at him, looks between him and Bernadetta and lingers next to him.

“Go. You want to say hello, right? I’ll walk around here until you’re done.”

Sylvain hovers a little more before reluctantly jogging off. He’s got a smile on his face by the time he reaches Bernadetta and scoops her up in a giant bear hug.

Felix watches for a while where he stands. He doesn’t have anything against Bernadetta. He just doesn’t know her that well. She’s always been more _Sylvain’s friend_ than _their friend_ and neither of them are exactly keen on meeting new people so it works out.

Felix catches Sylvain glancing over to him every so often and eventually he says something to the smaller girl as his body language says he’s about to come back to Felix’s side. Felix holds up a hand and Sylvain stops. He tilts his head at Felix and Felix shakes his head in return, tilting his head in an arbitrary direction before turning away.

He walks around for a bit, mostly passing by the arrangements. Without Sylvain there to point things out or swing their hands or talk to him and fill the time and space, everything seems so dreadfully boring and mundane. Felix sighs and finds a bench, sitting himself down as he waits for Sylvain to come back and stares blankly at whatever installation is in front of him, trying to see if some akin to the wonder and appreciation Sylvain feels will spark.

It doesn’t but he does manage to pass the time like that until Sylvain trots up to him.

“Sorry that took so long,” Sylvain huffs, more out of breath than Felix would’ve expected. He hadn’t gone that far. There’s a faint floral scent linger on Sylvain when he pulls Felix up and into a hug. Felix stiffens in his embrace. It’s not unusual for Sylvain to hug him, what’s unusual is the randomness and location of it. “Here, I got you something.” Sylvain holds out a single red rose to him. “They mean _I love you_ but you probably knew that.”

Felix stares at it, doesn’t know what to do. Flowers have never been his thing. Still, he looks up at Sylvain’s expectant dopey smile and takes it anyway. He still doesn’t know what to think except that now he has to hold on to it, and he can’t hold it and Sylvain’s hand at the same time.

They end up running into more of Sylvain’s friends, more people Felix doesn’t know. It’s not a surprise that Sylvain’s friends have similar interests as him. Most of Felix’s friends are gym friends or old acquaintances he can’t seem to shake. Still, it strikes a nerve when a tall, objectively beautiful brunette comes up to them and blows an air kiss at Sylvain.

“Fancy seeing you here Sylvain,” she says with a giggle.

Sylvain laughs. “I could say the same to you. Who’s the lovely lady?”

“Oh this is Petra! She’s new in town. I’m showing her around.”

“It is nice to be meeting you,” Petra says. “You are being Dorothea’s old friend?”

There’s this look Sylvain exchanges with Dorothea that makes something unpleasant stir in Felix’s stomach.

“Something like that.”

“And who’s this?” Dorothea turns to Felix.

Sylvain pulls him suddenly flush against his side. “Come on, Thea, I know I’ve shown you the pictures.”

Felix doesn’t know what to do with this information or the feeling that continues to grow in his gut.

“I know, I know. I’m teasing. It’s nice to finally meet you Felix. I’m Dorothea.” She extends a hand to him. Felix stares at it, unmoving. “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said he’s bad with people.” Dorothea withdraws her hand, but she doesn’t seem offended at all.

Sylvain laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry.”

Dorothea waves it off. “Sweetheart, if I got upset at a thing like that, I wouldn’t be able to do my job. Don’t worry about it!” She smiles kindly at both Sylvain and Felix.

Except that Felix is still stuck on _sweetheart_ and Sylvain letting it slide and the stem of the flower in his hand snaps.

“Felix?” Sylvain looks at him, brows furrowed.

“I’m going home,” Felix states, turning around and walking off, trying his best to ignore the feeling in his chest. Faintly, he hears Sylvain’s voice – _Sorry Thea, Petra. We’ll talk later_ – and Felix picks up the pace as Sylvain scurries after him.

Thankfully, Sylvain doesn’t come up to him, doesn’t try to ask what’s wrong because Felix isn’t sure what he’d say if he asked. Sylvain follows a few paces behind and Felix doesn’t have to turn around to know what expression Sylvain’s wearing.

He regrets walking to the park now. They’re half an hour from home and Felix is walking at a pace that’s not quite a run but not comfortably a speed walk either. It’s not Sylvain’s fault his legs are longer and therefore so is his stride but it only serves to irritate Felix more that he has to make much more of an effort to maintain this uncomfortable distance between them.

Silence and tension hang over them all the way home and once Felix gets the door open, he’s kicking off his shoes and retreating into the bedroom and burrowing into the blankets, silently hoping Sylvain won’t come after him. 

The front door opens and shuts and Felix counts the seconds, holds his breath between each step that Sylvain takes until he hears the knock on the bedroom door.

“Felix?”

He deigns not to respond.

It doesn’t matter. They both know he’s not actually sleeping.

Sylvain lets out a breath. It’s not quite a sigh but it’s also not _not_ a sigh.

The bed dips. “I’m sorry. It was supposed to be a nice day for us and I messed up. Sorry you didn’t have fun.”

Silence stretches between them and then Felix pulls the covers down to his nose. “Why does she call you sweetheart?”

Sylvain blinks. “Oh, that. I, uh, didn’t notice. Dorothea’s always like that, she’d be calling you sweetheart too if you gave her enough time. I guess I’m just used to it. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable. There’s nothing between us, I swear.”

Felix sits up. There might not be something now, but there’s history between them that Felix isn’t privy to.

“Okay,” he says carefully, not looking at Sylvain as he gets back out of bed.

The feeling in his stomach doesn’t go away, nor does the one in his chest but it lessens just a little when Sylvain leans across and lays his head on Felix’s shoulder. “I love you, Fe. There’s no one else.”

And Felix tilts his head into Sylvain’s and nods, shoving his feelings into that place in his head where he puts all the things he doesn’t want to think about.

This always happens. They fight and make up and everything goes back to how it was.

Even if the hollow feeling in Felix’s chest feels normal these days and the bed feels a little emptier even though Sylvain’s there with him. The inches that separate them feel too far for Felix’s liking, but he doesn’t reach across the gap to pull Sylvain closer.

The space between them fills with perfume and spontaneous flowers and Sylvain curling into Felix’s side, warm and distant at the same time, and when Felix kisses him, there’s a lingering taste like roses on his tongue.

It’s Thursday night and Felix paces restlessly in the living room. He’s shaking with tension and anger. His hands are fisted at his side, crushing the thing he’d found in Sylvain’s pocket.

Sylvain is late, for the third time that week, and there’s no reason for it.

It’s not work; Sylvain always texts him when it’s work since that usually means Sylvain won’t be back until it’s well past ten.

Felix doesn’t want to hover, doesn’t to be _that_ person in their relationship but after the third consecutive week of unexplained flowers and the scent of floral perfume and late nights, Felix had confronted him. Only for Sylvain to look as though _he_ was the one that hurt and simply parroted the same words back to him.

 _There’s nothing going on, Felix. It’s only you_.

Felix takes a deep breath, trying to quell the storm inside him.

The lock clicks and Felix is on him before Sylvain is fully through the door. And this time, when Felix faces him again and crowds into his space, pain and hurt lance through his chest and he turns it all to anger to feed the rising flame.

There’s perfume on Sylvain’s collar again and red tinting his lips.

Sylvain’s eyes go wide as Felix scowls at him.

“You’re such a liar, Sylvain. I never should’ve believed you.” Felix throws the crushed rose down at Sylvain’s feet. The petals burst and scatter across the floor. Sylvain stares in shock and horror, recoiling. “I can’t believe I believed all your pretty words. Trusted you. I bet that’s what you say to everyone. The same promise.”

Felix’s eyes burn.

“What was I to you anyway?! A challenge? The long game? See how long you could keep me before you got bored?” Felix spits out everything that crosses his mind. It doesn’t feel right saying them but it alleviates the pressure in his chest, so he keeps going.

“I don’t know why I notice sooner.” Felix doesn’t cry, won’t give Sylvain that satisfaction even though the fire in chest burns up to his eyes. Felix laughs, the hysterical sort where he can’t tell where the laugh ends and the sob begins.

“Maybe you are as selfish and unlovable as your reputation says.”

Felix pants; he doesn’t feel like he’s getting enough air. He’s still shaking as he waits for Sylvain to yell back at him. To refute all his accusations, or worse, confirm them.

Nothing comes. And when Felix looks back at him, Sylvain looks like he’s on the verge of being sick. Like he’s about to cry or throw up.

Or maybe Felix’s eyes are playing tricks on him because past the paleness of Sylvain’s face, he looks almost relieved. There’s a strange, twisted acceptance in his eyes as Felix took his heart and broke it.

Felix can’t stand to look at it anymore.

“If you don’t have anything to say, then leave,” Felix spits. “I don’t want to see you again, Sylvain.”

Felix watches Sylvain swallow, the bob of his throat. Once, and then again. When Sylvain finally finds his voice, it’s quiet and small and there isn’t a trace of fight in it.

“Yeah, you’re right. Of course that’s what you think, Felix. I…” Sylvain swallows again and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” Sylvain looks at him and for once, Felix can’t read what he finds there. Or maybe he doesn’t want to because Sylvain looks like he means what he says.

“I’m really sorry,” Sylvain says. And then he turns and walks out the door without looking back, taking all the fire in Felix’s chest with him until all that’s left are the smoldering ashes and an emptiness that feels infinitely worse than fire.

The door clicks and Felix is left staring at it and soaking in the silence left in its wake. He thought he’d feel better after letting it out, picking a fight just to get it out of his system so Sylvain could finally tell him what was going on. Deep down, he wanted Sylvain to throw everything back in his face, every flaw and failing and mistake Felix has so he could justify his own feelings of loathing and misery.

Instead it leaves him feeling worse than before.

Instead, Sylvain had stood there and taken everything Felix had thrown at him.

No fight. No rebuttal. No defense or retaliation to any of the accusations, empty as they were, born from Felix’s insecurities.

Felix feels raw and empty inside, now that the storm has passed.

He hadn’t _really_ meant what he’d said. Sylvain has been nothing but supportive and constant and generous in his affections. Whether they be directed at Felix or their other friends, Sylvain is always the one to volunteer his time to help, to offer a shoulder to cry on.

Liar. Selfish. Unlovable.

Felix laughs at how not-funny it is.

He might as well have yelled into a mirror instead of projecting onto Sylvain. 

They were supposed to go for dinner tonight, spend the night lazing on the couch playing games or watching something before Sylvain’s business trip tomorrow.

Now, Felix flops onto the couch, brewing in guilt and misery instead.

It’s been hours, only hours. Not the days or weeks or forever it feels like it’s been since he let his frustrations get the better of him.

Felix looks at his phone again. To check the time, he tries to convince himself, only to be disappointed when there aren’t any unread notifications waiting for him.

Without anything to block his screen, Felix fixates on the scene in his lock screen – it’s him and Sylvain crouched on the ground playing with a cat. Well, it’s a picture of a cat glued to Sylvain and the tie-ends of his hoodie while Felix tries, without success, to get its attention. He’d grumbled at Annette when she’d sent him the candid photo, but one decision after another led to him setting it as his lock screen for the past however long it’s been since she sent it to him.

He looks at Sylvain there – the fluff of his hair, the crinkle of his eyes, the way he’s looking at Felix like there isn’t a cat batting dangerously close to his face.

There’s a reason Felix chose this picture over the others to look at every time he touches his phone.

Something pangs in his chest and it feels remarkably like guilt.

 _That’s_ how Sylvain looks at him, for as long as Felix can remember.

Not how Sylvain had looked while Felix spat baseless accusations at him. Not the way Felix could see his heart shattering in his eyes, nor that awful acceptance and apology that had settled within them.

Felix had watched Sylvain walk away looking nothing like himself and it was _his_ fault. He’d done that and recalling how Sylvain had looked while staring at the warmth and happiness projected on his phone makes his stomach churn and chest hurt.

Unable to keep looking at it anymore, Felix unlocks his phone and opens the messaging app. He taps on his conversation with Sylvain and another wave of guilt washes over him as he scrolls through the history.

> [Sylvain]: _Gonna be late but I’ll be back for dinner. I’ll bring something back on the way. What do you feel like having?_
> 
> [Felix]: _whatever_

Sylvain had brought home takeout from Dedue’s restaurant that night, all of Felix’s favourites.

The restaurant cannot be called _on the way_ from Sylvain’s work.

He doesn’t remember if he ever thanked Sylvain for that.

> [Sylvain]: _[video]_
> 
> [Sylvain]: _look at this cutie Hilda and Marianne are fostering_

Felix plays the video. A black kitten with white boots and a white nose wrestles with a sock while Sylvain coos and laughs. It brings a smile to his face now, and it had back then too. But then he’d thought _why are you seeing Hilda_ , and that had drowned out the better thoughts in his head and he’d never replied to Sylvain in the end.

> [Sylvain]: _I miss you Felix, I’m sorry_

After an argument Felix doesn’t remember the contents of anymore.

> [Sylvain]: _You up? Can we talk?_
> 
> [Felix]: _about what_

And then Sylvain had called not a minute later, _I’m sorry_ the first words out of his mouth once Felix had picked up his call.

That’s the thing – Sylvain always apologizes, always apologizes _first_ , even when it’s not his fault. It never takes him more than a day to text or call or show up at Felix’s place looking tired and miserable to apologize in person.

Felix never noticed but thinking back on it, every time they made up, the vice in his chest would loosen and he could finally breathe again with Sylvain in his space.

Felix can count on one hand the number of times he’s said it back to Sylvain and two were for accidentally tripping him.

He scrolls to the bottom of the conversation. The last three messages are all from Sylvain, days apart.

> [Sylvain]: _Be home late again, don’t wait up_
> 
> [Sylvain]: _How did the presentation go?_
> 
> [Sylvain]: _< 3_

Felix hadn’t replied to any of them.

He refreshes the conversation and waits for the ping of a new message. For Sylvain to reach out like he always does.

It doesn’t come. And maybe it shouldn’t. It’d be fair given what Felix had said to him. He hadn’t actually meant it and regretted his choice of words now more than anything. But Sylvain had accepted everything so easily, moved too quickly away for Felix to take them back.

And he wants to take them back. Take them back and try again, kinder, more patient. Sylvain loves flowers. It’s not that unusual for Sylvain to have some.

It’s only been a few hours so maybe Sylvain’s still processing, still too mad at Felix to reach out to him and he has every right and reason to be.

There’s this nagging in Felix’s mind though. An anxious simmer that’s different in leaps and bounds from the storm that was there before.

It’s that that compels him to be the one to reach out first this time. To face the music and admit his own mistakes.

> [Felix]: _sylvain_
> 
> [Felix]: _i want to talk_
> 
> [Felix]: _can i call you_

Felix puts down his phone, pulls his knees up to his chest, and waits. He counts to ten and then twenty and then starts over.

He manages to resist for ten agonizingly long minutes before glaring at his phone and checking if he’d somehow put it on silent.

Sylvain’s smile greets him when he opens the screen.

That ache in his chest intensifies and so does his concern.

He dials Sylvain’s number. The line rings four times and Felix hangs up before it can go to voicemail.

> [Felix]: _?_
> 
> [Felix]: _sylvain_?

Felix tries again. Leaves a message this time.

“Sylvain. It’s Felix. I want to talk- Apologize. For what I said. Call me when you hear this.”

He doesn’t put his phone down as he waits this time.

No reply or call comes.

> [Felix]: i _understand if youre mad at me_
> 
> [Felix]: _it doesn’t have to be now. we can talk later_
> 
> [Felix]: _but_

To Felix’s surprise, it doesn’t take him any effort to type out his next message even though he’d much rather tell them to Sylvain directly.

> [Felix]: _im sorry_. _i didnt mean it_
> 
> [Felix]: _i miss you_
> 
> [Felix]: _call me_
> 
> [Felix]: _please_

He dials Sylvain’s number, again. It goes to voicemail, again. Felix hangs up.

It’s now three unanswered calls and a wall of unread texts. Something unpleasant settles in the pit of his stomach.

Felix doesn’t have many of Sylvain’s friends’ numbers, but he searches through his contacts for as many of their mutual friends as he can and sends them all a message.

> [Felix]: _have you heard from sylvain?_

A series of _no_ ’s file in. Even from Mercedes, who’s a friend of Sylvain’s from before they were a thing. It’s actually how they met. Felix knew Annette, and Sylvain knew Mercedes. And well, Annette and Mercedes. That’s how it started.

A second later, his phone pings with a new text message and he clicks on it so fast he doesn’t even check the sender. His heart sinks when he sees it’s not from Sylvain.

> [Mercedes]: _Did something happen with Sylvain?_
> 
> [Felix]: _hes not answering my calls or texts_

A pause. His phone pings again.

> [Mercedes]: _Maybe you should check up on him. He wouldn’t ignore you._

It’s a little alarming how easily she’s able to glean stuff from him with so little to go on.

One in the morning and they’ve just had the worst fight (if it can even be called that) in their relationship, and Felix is probably the last person Sylvain wants to see right now but even if he ends up getting the door slammed in his face, he needs to know that Sylvain’s upset at him and not something worse.

He’s already dressed to go out, so he simply grabs his keys and heads out the door, burying his nose into Sylvain’s hoodie against the wind. Felix irks himself again. That’s how this whole thing started in the first place. Felix has always liked wearing Sylvain’s clothes and the hoodie he’d picked out had a wilting flower in its pocket.

Felix pulls up a map and checks it before walking off. The address Sylvain had sent him ages ago is an expensive, fancy high-rise downtown with marble floors and crystal chandeliers in the lobby. Felix doesn’t even know for sure if it's Sylvain’s place. They’d only met up there for a date, Felix in his old college hoodie and jeans looking very out of place and attracting all kinds of snide and unwanted attention from the people walking in and out of the building. Sylvain had run into the lobby in a three-piece suit and his hair slicked back, and Felix had stared at him for a good long minute before reaching up and messing up his hair so he looked less put together and more like the guy who drooled on Felix’s hair in his sleep.

Felix stands outside the complex and tries Sylvain’s number again and no longer to his surprise, it goes to voicemail. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and walks through the double doors and up to the front desk looking no less out of place than the first time.

The receptionist makes a face at him. “Can I help you?”

Felix fidgets with the cuff of his sleeve. “I’m looking for someone. Sylvain Gautier. He lives here. I think,” he tacks onto the end before realizing how shady it makes him sound.

Predictably, she raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “And what is your relation to Mr. Gautier?” she asks, putting that particular question to rest in Felix’s mind.

“He’s-” Felix hides his face in Sylvain’s hoodie. “I’m his boyfriend.”

“Oh!” She immediately perks up and claps her hands together. “Are you Felix?” She appraises him, looks him over from head to toe.

Felix startles, not expecting a stranger to call him out by name. Certainly not with the prompt of information being _Sylvain’s boyfriend_. He doesn’t have the capacity to mule over that thought and what it means right now.

“Yeah,” he answers lamely.

Her attitude does a complete one-eighty at the confirmation. “How wonderful! It’s been a while since we’ve seen Sylvain, but he came through several hours ago looking unwell. I hope his family isn’t giving him a hard time again. Look after him, will you?” she says as she hands him a set of keys. Felix stares. “You’re registered to sign out the spare anytime. The round one is for the elevator and the big one is for the door.”

“Right.” Felix takes the keys. “Which unit is his?”

Confusion slides onto her face. “The Gautiers own the upper floors but Sylvain uses the penthouse suite. _P_ in the elevator, first door on the right.”

Felix nods, still trying to wrap his head around it all while he waits for the elevator. He knew Sylvain came from money, but this? This goes beyond _having_ money. What is he doing with Felix and his scrappy one-bedroom with creaky floors when this is his alternative?

Felix twists the elevator key and presses the button for Sylvain’s floor. The ride is long. It gives Felix enough time to be miserable all over again as he replays the night in his head. It also hits him that Sylvain is going to be at the end of the elevator ride and Felix hasn’t planned out what he intends to say at all. 

_Start with_ ‘ _I’m sorry’_ , a voice that sounds remarkably like Annette says in his head.

Felix knocks on the door, already prepared to blurt out the apology as soon as Sylvain opens the door. He waits for what feels like a foolish amount of time before pulling out his phone and calling Sylvain again.

Sylvain’s ringtone sounds surprisingly close to the door and Felix frowns. Even when he strains his ears, there isn’t any sign of movement from the other side of the door.

Felix hesitates before pressing the key into the lock and takes a deep breath before turning it. It unlocks with a light click and the Felix pushes the door open easily. Two deadbolts and a chain lock on the door, none of which have been used except the door’s automatic lock.

Felix frowns.

“Sylvain,” he calls down the hall once he’s let himself in, prepared to be thrown out by an upset boyfriend. He’s met with silence except for the ringing of Sylvain’s phone.

Felix looks around the suite. It’s just as fancy as he excepted, and it’s large but by no means empty. Shelves of books line the walls and it’s evidently been lived in, but there’s a distinct lack of _Sylvain_ here. It feels more like a hotel room than a home and Felix would rather his creaky place over this any day and understands why Sylvain spends so much time at his place.

He spies Sylvain’s phone buzzing on the floor just beyond the entrance and when Felix ends the call, he can he the slew of unseen notifications from him.

“Sylvain?” he calls again, stepping further into the room. Now that he can see more of the suite, alarms start blaring in his head when he sees the trail of chaos cutting through the otherwise neat and orderly space.

Sylvain’s jacket is crumpled on the floor and his bag too, its contents spilled all over the ground. Books are knocked over and there’s a broken vase further down.

Anxiety starts to set in. Sylvain’s a neat freak, always picking up Felix’s clothes or tidying up his things. It drives Felix up the walls every time Sylvain puts away his stuff and it takes him forever to find it again.

There’s no way Sylvain would leave his living space like this.

Something’s wrong. Something’s horribly, awfully wrong. Felix can feel it in the way he can’t breathe as panic fills his chest. He races through the suite, following the mess right to the bedroom and when he gets there, it takes all his strength and the doorframe not to collapse to his knees at what he finds there.

For starters, Sylvain’s there. And that’s where the good list ends and the bad one begins.

Sylvain’s there on the floor, unconscious, surrounded by flowers. Felix can see the tear tracks on his cheeks. The wheeze of Sylvain’s breath is deafening in his ears. It rasps in a way that doesn’t sound like he’s getting enough air. A hand is clutched at his chest, slack now but the creases of his shirt tell a different story – one that explains the bloody crescent welts in Sylvain’s palm. There’s blood on his lips, bright red – fresh – and it’s only when Sylvain coughs wetly, an awful sound that brings more blood and spit and _flower petals_ up his throat, that Felix snaps out of it.

“Sylvain!”

He’s on his knees, crouching over him in an instant. Felix shakes him, desperate for Sylvain to look at him. He watches in horror as Sylvain’s head lolls to the side.

“Sylvain! Wake up! You can’t- what is this?!” Felix touches Sylvain’s lip. His fingers come away red and despite being wet, he can barely feel Sylvain’s breath against them. He presses an ear to Sylvain’s chest and winces when he hears the rattle of his lungs, so loud he can barely hear his heartbeat.

“You promised!” Felix pleads, voice thick with panic as he holds Sylvain close. “You promised…” It’s hardly more than a whisper.

He must’ve called someone – an ambulance or someone capable of calling an ambulance – because one second, he’s clinging to Sylvain, trying to stop the tremors that run through him and the next, there are hands trying to pull Sylvain out of his arms.

Felix lashes at them, cuffs one in the chin before another set of hands are wrestling him to the ground, prying him off Sylvain. Felix roars.

“Let them do their jobs!” Ingrid screams, tightening her hold.

Felix stops struggling, falls slack against Ingrid and hears her sigh in relief as he watches the paramedics work.

“What’s wrong with him?” He hears himself ask.

The paramedics look to each other and shake their heads.

The vice that had loosened for the briefest of moments returns tenfold as he watches them bring in a stretcher and put an oxygen mask over Sylvain’s face.

“Help him,” Felix pleads. He slumps in Ingrid’s arms. “I can’t lose him too,” he says, feeling raw from the inside-out and he feels Ingrid squeeze his shoulder.

“We’ll do what we can.” It’s no promise and it’s said with no fanfare but before Felix can demand for something better than _we’ll try,_ they’re already gone, and Sylvain with them.

“Come on,” Ingrid says, pulling his arm to get him to stand. “We should go too.”

Felix doesn’t trust himself to speak, afraid of what will happen once he lets the dam break.

He nods, slow, his head like lead as he steps over the mess of flowers on the ground. He’d noticed the blood before, how could he not – a wreath of pure while daffodils with their petals stained pink and red. Amongst the tainted purity of it all were two roses, one red, one yellow and everything hurts to think about how painful it must have been to cough those up, their thorns tearing up Sylvain’s throat.

Ingrid must catch him lingering, staring at the flowers on the ground. Gently, she tugs his arm again. “Let’s go, Felix.”

The receptionist is making frantic phone calls when they make it to the lobby. She shoots Felix a concerned look as he passes through but he hardly even notices, still replaying everything in his head.

Ingrid doesn’t say anything when he climbs into the backseat of her car and doesn’t say anything the entire drive either. Felix has no idea how long the ride is but he spends the entirety of it remembering the image of Sylvain surrounded in enough bloody flowers to make a bouquet. He conjures up the ghost of a knife in Sylvain’s chest and to his horror, the hand on the handle is his own.

The moment Ingrid turns the engine off, Felix scrambles out of the car, clawing at his chest as he throws up on the pavement. The bitter acid taste of bile fills his mouth and burns his throat, but even then, he knows this agony doesn’t come close to what Sylvain felt.

There’s a knife in his own chest too, and he’s the one that put it there.

Somehow or another, they’re directed to an empty waiting room and Mercedes meets them there. Felix can’t decide whether he wants to sit or stand or scream or cry. Ingrid pulls up a chair and touches Felix’s shoulder. It’s pathetic how easily he crumbles into it.

But that’s what he is, isn’t it? Pathetic. He put up walls to hide the ugliest parts of himself but in the end, he ended up hurting the one that managed to sneak through. The pain in his chest intensifies, carves open his heart and spills everything in a gruesome mess inside his chest.

Mercedes comes up to him and gently touches his thigh. She looks at him with so much sadness and empathy and pity, he can’t stand it.

“Don’t,” Felix croaks, when she opens her mouth. Whatever reassuring thing she has to say, he can’t bear to hear it right now.

“Have you heard anything?” Mercedes asks instead.

Felix shakes his head.

“Do you know what’s wrong with Sylvain?”

Another shake.

Mercedes pauses and every second of silence fans more of that frustration and anger inside him. The same one that burned them in the first place. “What.”

“Sylvain never told you.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement that tells Felix more than he ever wanted to know.

“When does he ever tell me anything!” The dam breaks and Felix explodes, jolting out of the chair and letting it clatter to the ground. “He doesn’t tell me anything. He’s always avoiding me when I ask him what’s going on. He’s hardly home and-“

“Sylvain thinks you don’t love him.”

It sucker-punches him, knocks the air and the fire right from his lungs and he stares at Mercedes.

“What.”

“Sylvain thinks you don’t love him,” she repeats, just as clearly as the first time. “Sylvain has something called Hanahaki Disease. It’s a rare, fatal illness where flowers grow inside a person’s lungs because of unrequited love.”

“Unrequited…” Felix feels his knees go weak. “But I do, it’s not-” Felix swallows, and his eyes burn with unshed tears. “It’s my fault,” he says no more than a whisper. The admission of it to the world shattering everything that remains of his heart as he’s cruelly reminded of his own heartless behaviour over the months.

And Sylvain’s the one paying the price for it. He’s going to die because of Felix’s failings.

Mercedes crouches down and puts a hand over his. “Not as much as you think,” she says, gentle yet firm. “Sylvain has his own share of blame in this.”

“What does that mean?” Felix searches her face for answers.

Before she can respond, someone pokes their head into the room. “Gautier?”

“Yes,” Ingrid jumps up immediately.

The doctor comes into the room. “We’ve managed to stabilize him, but his condition isn’t good. My recommendation would be to operate before it’s too late. However, it seems he’s adamantly refused that option.” The doctor looks over them, her eyes lingering on Felix. “One person can stay with him for the night. The rest of you will have to come back during visiting hours tomorrow.”

“I’ll stay,” Felix says immediately, shoving everything that was spilling out back into its place. It’s probably not a good idea if he really is the cause of Sylvain’s illness; Mercedes’s a much better choice. But if it really is as Mercedes says then, “I want to be there when he wakes up.”

“Okay,” the doctor says. “Follow me.”

Felix stands with Mercedes’s help but once he’s on his feet, Mercedes speaks up. “Could I have a word please?”

Felix looks at her.

She’s not talking to him.

The doctor nods and Mercedes follows her into the hallway. Felix watches them talk through the glass – a shake of the doctor’s head, a nod from Mercedes. After a few minutes, the doctor points down a hallway. She makes eye contact with Felix, her expression softening before returning neutral, and then she’s gone.

“What did she say?” Felix asks as soon as Mercedes returns.

She makes a gesture and they follow her as she leads them down the hallway. “I’m not too familiar with Hanahaki and how it’s treated so I wanted to hear Sylvain’s options. Ultimately, it’s his decision but it’s better to know.”

“I thought you said it was fatal.”

“Fatal, yes. Incurable, no. Basically, there are three options.” Mercedes holds up a finger. “If nothing is done, Sylvain will die. He’ll suffocate from the flowers growing in his lungs.” Felix’s blood freezes. Mercedes holds up a second finger, “Alternatively, as the doctor recommended, Sylvain gets surgery. Although it seems he’s already refused that.”

“Why? It’d cure him right? Why would he refuse?”

“Because,” Mercedes says, looking pityingly at Felix, “if he did, he would lose all his feelings for you. You’d be no different than a stranger to him. To him, that’s worse than dying. That’s why he refused.”

Hearing that stirs up complicated and conflicting emotions inside him. Fuck, there are too many things hammering in his chest right now.

“You said there were three options,” Ingrid says. “What’s the last one?”

“The other way to cure Sylvain is if it’s no longer an unrequited love.”

“It’s not unrequited,” Felix says immediately. At the very least, he can pick out that emotion from everything else.

“You know, and we know, but Sylvain doesn’t think so. Like I said before, Sylvain’s has his own issues but they’re not mine to share. That’s something you two have to work out."

“I don’t-“ Felix inhales sharply. “You know how I am, I’m not- can’t change overnight.”

“I don’t think Sylvain would want that,” Mercedes says.

“Then how am I supposed to cure him? I don’t want him to die,” Felix says lowly, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

Mercedes stops in front of a door. “I think you have to figure that one out for yourself, Felix. Think it over – your feelings and Sylvain’s. I know you think it might be hopeless, but it might be worth trying if your feelings are as strong as we think.” She tilts her head to the door.

Felix walks up to it and puts his hand on the handle. He hesitates. Ingrid squeezes his shoulder and gives him a gentle nudge.

“Take care of Sylvain, and yourself,” Ingrid says. “We’ll be back to visit tomorrow.”

Felix nods and watches them go. The hallway is empty; he’s alone outside Sylvain’s room.

The door’s heavy as he turns the handle and pushes it open, like there’s a force from within pushing against him and when he finally gets the door open, Felix releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Sylvain is sleeping – _unconscious_ , his mind corrects – with an oxygen mask over his face and an IV in his arm. It’s completely different from the last time he saw Sylvain and although it doesn’t send him spiraling into a panic, that overwhelming ache in his chest is back.

He walks over to Sylvain’s bedside, dragging his feet. They feel like lead, each step heavier than the last and when he finally makes it to Sylvain’s side, he’s so tired and overwhelmed, it feels like he’s just run a marathon.

Felix watches the rise and fall of Sylvain’s chest, pain and panic and guilt making his breath catch every time it becomes uneven, when Sylvain's breathing gets strained and raspy, almost whistling on the exhale through the tangle of flowers rooted inside his lungs.

It feels like his own breath has been stolen from him every time it happens and that’s not fair at all. Felix isn’t the one slowly suffocating because his boyfriend is so bad at showing affection, he thinks he doesn’t love him. Even so, Felix doesn’t draw his own breath until he sees Sylvain take one too.

Perhaps it’s the stale white hospital walls but the moonlight cast on Sylvain’s face makes him look deathly ill. His complexion has always been pale but now he looks grim. All the glowing liveliness he usually radiated that brightened up Felix’s dull world gone.

There’s a chair in the room. Felix pulls it as close to the bed as he can so he can take Sylvain’s hand in his and places the other lightly on Sylvain's chest just to feel the rise and fall of it.

“I’m sorry,” Felix whispers into the dead of night. The silence fills with the sounds of Sylvain’s waning breath, with the manifestation of Felix’s failings. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a box he has, a metaphorical imitation of the one he had as a kid. In it, he keeps all the things he wants to hide, the things he doesn't want to look at. Things he doesn't want to face. When he was younger, his box was filled with broken toys and tattered clothes and a picture frame of his mother. Now, it’s filled to bursting with intangible things – feelings he doesn’t want to acknowledge, things he doesn’t have the strength to confront.

Without realizing it, he’d buried his love for Sylvain in there too.

In a way, Felix has always known. It’s not just his failings he put in there, it was all the things he was afraid to lose too:

The memory of the woman who sang him lullabies even though he claimed he didn’t need them anymore. Until the day she couldn’t sing them for him anymore and he shoved her picture into his box and cried himself to sleep.

A love he never thought he could have, never thought he was capable of feeling. It had scared him when he’d come home late one night and found Sylvain sleeping at the dining table with stew in a microwavable bowl. The first thought that had run through his head was _you idiot, I told you not to wait up,_ followed by _this is nice_ when he’d finally dragged Sylvain to bed with him. He’d fallen asleep to Sylvain pressing sleepy kisses against his dirty hair, secretly wishing they could do this every night.

Felix doesn’t know what sort of things Sylvain’s holding onto but at least from his end, in order to even have a shot _every night_ with Sylvain, he’d have to tear open his box and confront everything in there.

It’d probably gut him, exposing himself like that, but he knows – Sylvain would look at everything cracked and broken and flawed about him and see beauty anyways.

There’s desperation in his soul, watching the only love he’ll ever accept slip away. Surgery or death, Felix might lose him either way and he doesn’t know if he’s enough to do option three. Tears slide down his cheeks, finally overflowing from the dam that’s already been broken.

Felix squeezes Sylvain’s hand, holds the palm of it to his cheek in mock semblance of Sylvain wiping away his tears and spills even more of them.

In spite of his fears and the guilt eating away at him, Felix doesn’t dream of Sylvain leaving him in body or spirit that night when he inevitably tires himself out. Instead, he dreams of Sylvain holding his hand, swinging them like children as they walk down the street. Felix doesn’t know where they’re going but he finds he doesn’t care as long as Sylvain’s there too.

Felix floats in and of sleep, teetering between wanting to stay in that place where Sylvain held his hand, and being afraid that he’d slip away while Felix conjured fantasies.

It’s probably a hallucination, that phantom squeeze against his hand, but it takes him to that kinder place where Sylvain looks at him like he’s the entire world and Felix is capable of mirroring his smile.

There, he’s warm and whole and that overwhelming weight in his chest dissipates into something soft and kind.

Felix wakes to a gentle caress on the back of his hand. He blinks slowly and squints against the sun streaming through the curtains. Beyond, Sylvain’s sitting up and looking at him so adoringly that for one delusional moment, everything is alright.

Then Sylvain coughs and all too suddenly, Felix is jolted back to reality, jumping out of the chair and squeezing Sylvain’s hand.

“Sylvain,” Felix breathes, relief and grief in equal parts.

“Sweet-“ Sylvain stops abruptly, sadness flashing across his face. “Felix,” he corrects. He draws his hand away from Felix’s, lingering briefly before he pulls away completely.

 _Don’t do that_ , Felix wants to scream. _Call me sweetheart again_ , he pleads with all but his voice.

“What are you doing here?” Sylvain asks, reaching for his oxygen mask.

Felix makes it faster, catching his wrist before he can pull it off. “How do you feel?” he asks, kicking himself because the answer is obvious enough.

Sylvain laughs a little, strained. “I’ve had better days.” He looks at Felix, a little detached, confusion evident on his face. “You didn’t have to stay. You _don’t_ have to stay out of pity, you know.”

“I’m not here out of pity.”

“Then why are you here Felix?”

“Obviously I’m here because I want to be, because I-“

He stops when another round of coughs rack through Sylvain.

 _Sylvain thinks you don’t love him_.

Felix clenches his fists at his side, watching Sylvain pull the mask to the side to pick the petals out. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Sylvain looks at him, a crease between his brows. “It’s not what you think. I-!“

There’s a loud knock and the door opens, the doctor from last night coming in and looks between Felix and Sylvain. Her expression remains unreadable.

“Good morning,” she says, walking up to them. “How do you feel?” Sylvain shrugs. “I have a few questions for you and a couple tests to run.” She’s talking to Sylvain but she casts a glance at Felix as she says it.

“Oh. Right.” Felix takes a few steps back. “I’ll be back later.” He makes it all the way to the door before turning back to Sylvain. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”

Genuine surprise flits across Sylvain’s face and there’s even a small smile when he replies. “Tea and maybe something to eat? Don’t go out of your way though, I’m sure the nurses are going to bring me something soon anyways.”

Felix nods. “Okay,” he says, watching Sylvain until the door shuts. He lingers for a moment, before stuffing his hands into his pockets and walking away.

His feet move of their own accord, picking a direction and heading in it. He has no idea where the cafeteria is but if he keeps walking, he’s bound to come across it at some point.

Besides, his mind is elsewhere.

There was this moment when he’d woken up that everything felt right. Sylvain was there and holding his hand and looking at him that way that made his heart swell and skip a beat. And then he’d turned distant, withdrawn. Sylvain wouldn’t meet his eye, had thought Felix was here out of _pity_ , as if Felix was the kind of person that did things out of pity.

Felix feels mildly insulted. And then the pieces slide closer into place.

_Sylvain thinks you don’t love him._

Sylvain thought he’d broken up with him. _That’s_ why he looked at Felix the way he did when he thought Felix had been asleep and changed once he saw that he wasn’t.

Sylvain hadn’t expect to see Felix there at all.

Felix freezes, balling his hands into fists inside his hoodie – Sylvain’s hoodie – until his palms hurt where his nails dig in and Felix collapses against a wall, sliding down and letting his head thud against it.

“…Felix?”

He must have been there for some time, unbeknownst to the people passing by. He doesn't notice Annette sliding down next to him until she’s already there saying his name.

Felix barely acknowledges her, looks at her blankly. Worry is etched on her face. He must look as bad as he feels because she’s pulls his head onto her shoulder and lets him rest there for a moment in silence.

“Mercie told me about Sylvain,” Annette says eventually. “How is he?”

“I don’t know,” he replies, vaguely sick again that that’s the only answer he can give. “The doctor’s with him right now.”

Annette hums. “Where were you going? Unless there’s something you’ve been hiding from me, I find it hard to believe the Pediatrics Department was your destination.”

Felix looks at the sign Annette tilts her head at and scoffs. “I was going to the cafeteria to get some stuff for Sylvain,” he says pulling himself, and then Annette, to their feet.

“The cafeteria?” Annette parrots. “Isn’t that in the opposite direction from Sylvain’s room? Unless Mercie gave me the wrong directions.”

Felix sighs and drags a hand down his face. “This place is a labyrinth.”

Annette sighs, exaggerated if you ask him, but brightens right back up. Thankfully she doesn’t say another word (not about his atrocious sense of direction at least) as she leads them in the right direction.

“I would’ve brought you guys something,” Annette says as they wait in line at the cafeteria. “Next time,” she promises. Felix doesn’t bother to argue with her about it.

Felix realizes he didn’t bring his wallet when they get to the counter. He pats down his pockets and turns up his phone and two sets of keys and no wallet. In the end, Annette pays for his coffee and Sylvain’s breakfast.

Annette sits him down on a bench in the adjacent hallway of Sylvain’s room. “I haven’t asked yet, how are _you_ doing? With all of this. And don’t say you’re fine because you’re clearly not.”

“I’m… I don’t know,” he mutters. He hasn’t thought about himself, not the kind of productive introspection Annette’s talking about anyways. There’s guilt and regret and misery and blaming himself for all his failures, but what’s new. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He gets up, but Annette is faster. She pops off the bench and lords over him with her hands on her hips, forcing him back onto the bench.

“Oh no you don’t, Felix Fraldarius. We are going to talk about this.”

Felix glares at her the best he can, almost growling. But Annette has been immune to his empty threats for as long as he can remember so it doesn’t come as a surprise when he can almost hear the comical sound effects of his glare bouncing off her and splatting to the ground.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

Annette snorts so loudly he has to make sure the sound actually came from her.

Felix frowns. “What?”

“Are you hearing yourself? Nothing to talk about? I’d say you have a lifetime’s worth of talking you need to do. Have you talked to anyone since Glenn?”

“That’s-“

“Not true?” Annette huffs, “I don’t count. I, Felix Fraldarius, am exceptional with a crowbar. I might be able to pry my way through your defenses, but Sylvain is not me.”

“I’m not that bad,” Felix mutters. He mulls over that thought for a minute. “I don’t know where to start,” he admits.

“Anywhere. Just start. Stop thinking about the right place to start and just do it. Start at the beginning, the end, heck start in the goddamn middle if that’s what’s bothering you the most.”

“I’m not- I’m not good with words or feelings or being vulnerable,” he says miserably. “It’s not going to come out right.”

“Oh, yeah. You suck. You’re the worst. You’re blunt and rude and a horrible tease.” Felix isn’t sure if Annette’s here to give him a pep talk or kick him when he’s down. “And Sylvain’s all pretty words and flirty and awful and-“

Felix hears the sound he makes before he realizes he’s made it. Sylvain _is_ a flirt and he’s not the easiest to deal with but hearing it from someone else rubs him the wrong way.

Sylvain’s more than he lets on and Felix knows that. He hides behind a veneer of carelessness and casualness even though he goes out of his way to bring home Felix’s favourites and goes on six AM runs with him twice a week even though he’s hardly conscious for it, and-

“And,” Annette says, turning to him, smiling softly. “And there’s so much more to him, and you, that no one else knows. I’ve been your friend for years, Felix, and I don’t think I know you better than he does.”

Maybe that’s true. At least on his end. He’s known people for his entire life, and they don’t know him like Sylvain does. He doesn’t know nearly as much about Sylvain as he’d like to, but there’s this way Sylvain looks when he’s around other people, in front of certain people that feels superficial and fake and Felix really, really hates that.

Felix remains silent for a moment, and then, “Sylvain knows about Glenn. I’ve told him about it.” Annette releases a surprised little gasp, which isn’t surprising considering what it’d taken _her_ to get him to talk about it. 

“I don’t want to lose him,” Felix confesses. “But I don’t know if I have a choice.”

“You’re here. You wouldn’t be if you didn’t care. Everyone who knows you knows that, except maybe Sylvain. So you have to tell him.” Annette bumps into his side as she says that. “You’ve told him about Glenn, trust him with the other stuff too.”

The prospect is terrifying. What if he messes up? What if he loses Sylvain for good this time?

Annette swipes the rest of his coffee (the whole of his coffee. He didn’t take more than a single drink) and makes a face when she’s done, sticking out her tongue, disgusted.

“Gross. I forgot you take your coffee black.”

Felix scowls at her, as though that was somehow the most insulting thing she’s said to him all day.

“You should go back,” she says, pulling his arm until they’re at the mouth of the hallway. “I’ll drop by with Mercie later. Ingrid and Dimitri said they’d come by after work.” She skips off before Felix has a chance to say anything.

She turns around partway down the hallway and points at him. “Words, Felix Fraldarius. I know you know how to use them! I believe in you!” she shouts down the hallway, making an action that must mean to cheer him on but just looks silly and vaguely like she needs the bathroom. 

Felix sighs and waves at her before dragging his feet down the hall back to Sylvain’s room.

There’s a crack of the door open and Felix freezes, realizing the voice coming through doesn't belong to Sylvain or the doctor.

“-how much trouble it was explaining your absence at the conference?”

Sylvain scoffs. “I’m sure it was an awful waste of your time.”

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I spoke with your doctor. She says you’ve refused to get the surgery. Ridiculous.”

There’s a shuffling in the room and then Sylvain’s voice, raised and agitated.

“That’s _my_ choice to make. You don’t have a say in it.”

Felix holds his breath.

“We’ve been lenient in how you spend your time and money considering you’ve been continuing your duties to the company. You’ve gone too far this time.” Felix can hear the disgusted sneer that accompanies the words. “Falling in love and catching a disease as ludicrous as Hanahaki. Grow up Sylvain. Stop wasting your time on trivialities. Or do you want to end up like Miklan?”

Felix can tell Sylvain goes rigid, hears the way his breath hitches. The tension in the room is so thick it seeps through the door.

“I’m not Miklan.”

Felix’s chest aches. There’s anguish and helplessness in Sylvain’s voice, in the unevenness of his tone and how quietly and desperately he says it. Like he’s spent countless nights trying to convince himself of that fact only for this conversation to unravel it all.

“No, you’re not. No son of mine will be as shameful and worthless as him.” Sylvain’s father scoffs.

It takes everything Felix has not to burst into the room. Shameful? Worthless? Felix may not see eye to eye with his father, but Rodrigue has _never_ said such awful things about him or Glenn.

Felix is jolted out of his thoughts at the raise of Sylvain’s voice. Felix is shocked, he’s never heard Sylvain raise his voice. Not like that. There’s silence after the outburst and footsteps moments later. Felix doesn’t register the door opening until someone, Sylvain’s father, throws it open.

Sylvain’s father looks at the same time, so much like Sylvain and very much not. Their features are similar. That shade of red unmistakably hereditary. But there’s none of Sylvain’s softness, the subtle droop of his eyes when Sylvain smiles or the way he seems to glow. Instead there’s cold and apathy and the sneer Sylvain’s father makes when he sees Felix, the disgusted look on his face, makes Felix doubt how related they really are. There’s nothing of Sylvain there and the only thing Felix is grateful for is how quickly he pushes past Felix and walks away.

There’s a sigh from inside the room that turns into a groan. Felix pushes the door open. His eyes widen at the sight of bills scattered across Sylvain’s bed and on floor. Sylvain’s upset, frustration, and exhaustion an almost tangible thing.

Felix takes a step forward and Sylvain flinches, jerking up. “I already said-!” He stops abruptly, looking at Felix with horror and surprise. “Felix,” he breathes, anger and upset bleeding out of him and melting into something softer, something familiar.

“I uh, brought you some stuff.” Felix takes another careful step, hoping Sylvain won’t flinch again. He doesn’t. “Bergamot. It’s not hot anymore though. And they didn’t have mixed berry, so I got you a blueberry muffin instead.” Felix holds them out to Sylvain.

Sylvain doesn’t take them, just stares at the things in Felix’s hands.

“Do you not want them anymore?”

Sylvain looks up at him, dazed. “No, no that’s not it. I- I wasn’t expecting you to come back. Or to know my favourites. I’m just surprised.” Sylvain takes the offerings with a shy, happy smile. “Thank you, Felix.”

“Of course, I know them,” Felix says, sharper than he means to. It’s then that he realizes there’s no way Sylvain would know that. He’s never done this before, gotten something for Sylvain just because he could. Add that to the constantly-growing list of boyfriend things Felix has failed at.

An awkward silence falls over them, the stifling kind where both of them wait for the other to say something.

“Was that your father?” Felix asks at the same time Sylvain blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

Sylvain laughs so suddenly, more of a bark, dry and humorless, that startles Felix from questioning what in the world Sylvain is apologizing for.

“Yeah, that was my father,” Sylvain says. His eyes are distant and empty, void of all the emotions Felix is used to seeing in them.

“Was he here to visit?”

“Visit? I guess if you want to call yelling at me for being an embarrassment to the family name and fucking up his schedule, then yeah sure. He came to visit.” Sylvain chuckles, cold and empty, and it sends a shiver down Felix’s spine.

“You’re not an embarrassment. Or worthless,” Felix says, recalling the things Sylvain’s father had said to him. It makes him angry and upset all over again.

Sylvain snorts. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

Sylvain looks at him doubtfully. “Do you? A liar. Selfish. Unlovable. Pretty sure those were the words you used. You aren’t wrong.” Sylvain shrugs. “It’s fine. I’ve known that about myself for a long time.”

Each word is a knife to Felix’s heart. It hurts to hear Sylvain repeat his words back to him with such casualness that says he’s fully believes it.

“I didn’t-“ Felix starts to say when he’s interrupted by a fit of coughs that racks Sylvain’s entire body. He rushes to Sylvain’s side, holding his hand and rubbing at his back until Sylvain dislodges the flower in his throat. A rose. Another one. Blood drips from Sylvain’s lip onto the sheets. Red stark against white. Felix stares, takes in how pale Sylvain is and how tired he looks in the aftermath and the full force of what's happened barrels into him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Felix asks, holding Sylvain’s hand tighter to quell the shaking.

Sylvain looks away. “Because there’s nothing to tell.”

“Nothing to tell? I just watched you cough up a rose! I found you unconscious last night surrounded by bloody flowers and you’re dying because I-“ Felix chokes back a sob.

“Why are you here Felix?” When he asks the question this time, it’s soft and gentle and filled with sadness. “You’re still mad at me, right?”

“I’m not-“ Felix holds his tongue. Despite how much he wants to make things right, he can’t lie to Sylvain. Not now, not when everything teeters on a precipice and one lie could send it over the edge. Sylvain flinches, tries to pull his hand out of Felix’s. Felix holds them tighter. He won’t let Sylvain retreat again.

“I’m angry at you,” he says, looking at the wrinkles in the bedsheets to avoid Sylvain’s face and whatever expression it wears. “But I’m angrier at myself.”

“Felix-“

His head snaps up. “Shut up.” He takes a deep breath, letting himself tremble on the exhale. “Let me finish,” he says more kindly, looking into Sylvain’s eyes and the myriad of emotions swirling there.

Sylvain doesn’t say anything, just runs his thumb over Felix’s knuckles where they’re turning white. Felix loosens his hold and tries not to wince at the welts left in Sylvain’s hand. Sylvain squeezes gently. It’s reassurance and comfort and _take your time,_ and suddenly Felix can’t see through the blur of tears but he pushes through anyways. 

“I’m angry at you,” he repeats, voice heavy with the weight of his heart. “But not for the reasons I said before. I’m angry that you didn’t tell me that you felt like I didn’t, don’t, love you. The things I said before, I didn’t mean them. I-“ Felix takes a breath and opens up that box inside him. “You’re always there for me, being there with whatever I needed, whenever I needed it. When I realized how much you loved me, I didn’t know how to deal with it. Everything I said to you… it was really meant for myself. That’s why I’m angry at myself. For projecting all my insecurities onto you and not realizing what you were going through.”

Felix presses his forehead against Sylvain’s hand, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry for saying all those things and hurting you and being a shitty boyfriend that can't even say I love you properly.” Tears spill down his cheeks.

Sylvain takes their interwoven hands and wipes away the tears with the back of his hand.

“You asked me why I’m here right?” Felix says, looking into Sylvain’s eyes. He’s a blur of red because Felix is definitely still crying. “I’m here because I love you and I don’t want to lose you. I called and texted you so many times. It’s my fault your sick.”

“Fe,” Sylvain says. He squeezes Felix’s hand. “It’s not your fault. Okay, okay, don’t look at me like that. It’s a little bit your fault.” Sylvain smiles, warm and sad. He looks out the window, into the clear blue sky. “I’ve been in so many loveless relationships. Been around so many of them too. I didn’t know what love was until I met you.” Sylvain looks back at him and there’s all that adoration that makes Felix feel like he’s about to burst there. “I didn’t know I could feel that way about someone. I was so happy when we started dating Fe, really, I still am.” Sylvain brings his hand up to kiss the back of his hand. “You’re the best thing in my life. But you know, the happier you made me, the less I felt I deserved it. You don't know anything about me. Not about my family, not about all the shitty things I’ve done. The kind of person I am. I wasn’t lying when you said you weren’t wrong. I’m a liar and selfish and deluded myself into thinking maybe I could be worthy of your love. I was afraid you’d leave if you knew the truth. I started telling myself, when we started growing apart, that I didn’t deserve your love, that there was no way someone that made me so so happy could love someone like me.”

Felix listens, his entire soul aching while Sylvain talks. So many times, he wants to cut in and tell him how wrong he his. How there’s so much of Sylvain that Felix wishes he could be. How happy Sylvain makes him and how Sylvain shouldn’t worry about what he’s afraid of because Felix already knows who he is. The months they’ve spent together enough proof of who Sylvain Gautier is.

Instead he listens, listens and cries and reaches out with his heart once Sylvain’s finished to say, “I’ve never been happier. You’re not perfect. Neither am I. You’re more than I deserve. Thank you for loving me.”

“If you agree to not blame yourself, I won’t either,” Sylvain says, voice thick with unshed tears. “We both could’ve done better.”

“We’re both disasters,” Felix agrees, sniffling but it’s got a bit of a laugh in it. “I still want to be with you.”

Sylvain shifts on the bed and opens his arms. “Come here.”

Felix hesitates even though he wants nothing more than to fling himself into Sylvain’s embrace. “But you’re…” Felix glances at the IV and the oxygen mask that he’s only now noticing isn’t on Sylvain’s face.

“I’m not contagious,” Sylvain laughs and Felix smacks him in the arm for it. “Okay, that wasn’t as funny as it was in my head. I’m sorry I scared you. But really, don’t worry about this.” Sylvain gestures around him. “Will it convince you if I said I’d feel better if I held you?”

Felix feels the blush spreading across his face. “You’re so-!” Sylvain smiles at him, looks at him like he’s the cure to all his problems and Felix surrenders. He climbs on the bed, props a knee over either side of Sylvain’s lap, and leans into his arms.

It feels like coming home. The relief he feels when Sylvain wraps his arms around him and kisses the top of his head is enough to bring tears to his eyes again.

Sylvain rubs small comforting circles on his back until Felix can’t hold back anymore and wipes his nose on Sylvain’s hospital gown. Sylvain laughs. “Gross,” he says, light and easy, no indication at all that he wants Felix to stop or move.

“Shut up,” Felix sniffles, rubbing his nose furiously in retaliation. Sylvain still smells vaguely of roses and the harsh reminder causes him to jerk back. “I don’t mean that. I mean-“

“I know, sweetheart.”

Felix lifts his head. “I can’t promise today or tomorrow, but I promise I’ll try. I want to be better. And… I want to be more open with you. You remember when I told you about my brother?” Sylvain nods and holds him tighter. “I want to tell you all the other stuff too. I was scared I’d lose you if I shared all the ugly things about me. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“Sweetheart, I love you more than words can say. Knowing that you’re willing to try and want to be with me is more than I can ever ask more.”

“I want you to make me another promise,” Felix says suddenly. Sylvain tilts his head to the side. “I want you to promise me that you’ll try to love yourself as much as you love me.”

Sylvain brings a hand to his cheek and tilts Felix’s chin up. He leans forward, until Felix can feel his breath against his lips and Sylvain stops.

Felix doesn’t wait for Sylvain to cross the distance; he presses forward and meets him halfway.

Felix feels a tear slide down Sylvain’s cheek.

“I promise. I’ll try,” Sylvain says, voice thick with emotion. “I want to see all the things you see in me too. I love you, you know that right?”

Felix nods and kisses him again. It might just be his imagination but when he kisses Sylvain again, the taste of roses isn’t as heavy on his tongue.

“I know, I love you too.”

.

.

.

_Many, many months later…_

“What about this one?” Sylvain nudges him with an elbow from his spot on the bed next to him and holds out the catalogue for Felix to see. It’s open to S _ummer Bouquets_ and the pages are filled with pink and purple and yellow flowers.

Felix shifts against the pillow and leans over to look. “It’s… bright,” he says, trying to keep judgement out of his voice.

Sylvain lets out a little laugh. “It is, isn’t it. How about this one?” He flips to another page and looks at Felix with a concoction of expectation, hope, and confusion. Felix has no idea what kind of answer Sylvain wants from him.

“I don’t know. They look the same to me. I don’t really care what the flower bouquet looks like.”

He doesn’t care because it’s not what’s important to him. He doesn’t need a ceremony, doesn’t need a fancy reception to validate his feelings for Sylvain. He’d marry him right here, right now, both half naked because for some bizarre reason they’ve only got one set of pajamas. Or rather, they only ever wear one set at a time.

The point is, aesthetics are just about the last thing Felix cares about this whole thing. Wedding or not, all he needs is Sylvain by his side.

But, he knows how much Sylvain wants one. Knows that Sylvain’s going to spend long nights picking the perfect decorations and colors and music for the special day. Felix dreads the suit fitting part of the preparations, mostly because he doesn’t get to see what Sylvain’s going to be wearing until wedding day and that’s decidedly not fair. At least that goes both ways and his slight competitive streak sings at the prospect of being him being the first to make the other cry. He’s also going to win the speech one. Although, he’s not eloquent with words the way Sylvain is and there’s a distinct possibility that Sylvain’s going to pull all-nighters to write the perfect speech. Too bad Felix is going to get more people, including his husband-to-be, to cry at his on the spot one.

Their wedding is a celebration of them as much as it’s a thank you to their friends who have supported them and helped them get this far. Even Sylvain’s parents had sent them a generous cheque in the mail last week, after Felix found out Sylvain had told them. _To prove to them they were wrong,_ he’d said with a smile. Felix didn’t want to take their money but it was better than having to deal with the alternative. It was, in a way, their way of supporting their son. Or maybe it was just to bribe him so he’d wouldn’t disown himself from his family and the company. Although, from the way Sylvain looked when he saw the cheque, it was probably the former. It definitely helped pay for the open bar and food and dessert buffets.

He still refused to invite them to the wedding though and thank god Sylvain agreed.

“I thought Annette called dibs on wedding planning. Didn’t she fight you for it?”

“She did. She won,” Sylvain laments. “But we get to help! Like picking out a theme or colors or just stuff we like.” Sylvain buries his nose back into the pages with a determined puff of his cheeks.

Felix sighs and plucks the catalogue from Sylvain’s hands. “The wedding isn’t until fall.” He throws it haphazardly on the nightstand, sending it and the other books stacked there tumbling to the floor. ”Worry about it later.”

“That’s only five months away,” Sylvain says, pouting.

Felix rolls his eyes and sinks back into the pillows. It’s still far too early to be stressing over this in his opinion. At least for tonight, he doesn’t want to spend the night mulling over flower arrangements. He opens his arms and waits for Sylvain to take the bait. Knowing him, he definitely will.

Which is why the wind is momentarily knocked from his lungs when Sylvain flops down across his stomach. Felix glares at him but Sylvain isn’t facing him; he’s too busy inchworming across Felix’s lap to reach over the side of the bed. He hears the rustling of pages and realizes Sylvain’s tidying up the books – stacking them into little piles and shoving them under the bed so no one will trip and die in the morning.

Felix groans. How did he not foresee this?

“Fe, what’s this?”

“What’s what,” he wheezes, trying to wiggle his ribcage out from under his fiancé.

Sylvain hefts himself up, narrowly missing Felix’s solar plexus with his elbow. He doesn’t seem to notice the death glare Felix sends him, but he does pat Felix’s stomach apologetically as he nestles onto the pillow next to him.

“What’s this?” Sylvain asks again, confusion and concern settling into his eyes.

Between Sylvain’s fingers is a single dried rose. The red of its petals reflects in the honey of Sylvain’s eyes and it stirs something in Felix’s chest. He’d forgotten it was there. “I asked Bernadetta how to preserve them.”

“Is this from…?”

“Yeah.” Felix holds out his hand.

“Why?” Sylvain hands the flower over.

Felix holds it up the light, closes his eyes and remembers where each fleck of blood used to be. “They’re my reminder,” he answers, opening his eyes again.

“Felix-“

“I’m not saying I was the only one at fault. It was both of us. But what good is loving you if I don’t show it? If you don’t feel like you’re loved?” Felix sets the flower down on the nightstand and coaxes Sylvain into his arms. “Never again,” he says, holding Sylvain’s face in his hands. “Never again. You deserve to be loved and you are.”

The next thing he says, he says while looking right into Sylvain’s eyes. Directs it right to the crevice of doubt that sometimes slips through and fills it with everything Felix has learned to give since the day he found Sylvain lying in a ring of bloody flowers.

“I love you.”

Sylvain’s eyes soften but the tears don’t come like they once did. Instead, he smiles and presses a kiss to Felix’s cheek.

“I know. I love you too.”

Felix nods and tilts his head into Sylvain’s kiss and then brings their lips together.

“I’ll help you look at flowers tomorrow,” Felix whispers against his lips, holding Sylvain close.

Sylvain smiles and reaches for the light, shutting it off. He tucks his head under Felix’s chin. “Okay. Tomorrow,” he says, tickling Felix with every breath. “Good night, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight,” Felix echoes, knowing with certainty that no dream will be better than the reality of waking up with numb arms and Sylvain and all his love in the morning and spending the day working through the stacks of catalogues on their coffee table.

**Author's Note:**

> Red rose: I love you  
> Yellow rose: I’m sorry  
> Daffodils: unrequited love / you are the only one
> 
> What happened to Glenn? Who knows, not me :D 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please kudo/comment if you enjoyed the fic and give it a like/retweet [ here](https://twitter.com/laughtales_/status/1351437487307108357?s=20)~ <3


End file.
